


Queen-Sized Bed

by SparkPlug



Series: Good Omens One Shots and Stories [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Queen (Band)
Genre: AIDS Related Death, Anal Sex, Angst, Best Friends, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Bottom Freddie Mercury, Crack, Crack Pairing, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Freddie Mercury/Crowley (Good Omens), Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, HIV/AIDS, Hurt Crowley, Live Aid, M/M, Moving, Moving On, One Night Stands, One Shot, Post-Freddie Mercury's Death, Queen - Freeform, Smut, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Top Freddie Mercury, crowley likes queen, the real reason Crowley likes Queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 22:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20379199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkPlug/pseuds/SparkPlug
Summary: The real reason that the Bently always has Queen playing.





	Queen-Sized Bed

Crowley had always been down to do some little fuckery however, today he was feeling especially dangerous and when a tall, lanky, dark-haired man passed him by, he couldn’t resist stirring the pot a little bit.

Popping the collar to his jacket, Crowley sauntered off towards the man dressed in high-waisted jeans and a pale yellow button-up shirt that had the top three buttons undone.

“Evening handsome, what are you up to tonight?” Crowley inquired, his tone long and drawn out as he kept pace with the man.

“I was just going back to my hotel,” he informed him, the blush evident on his face.

“Mind if I join you?” Crowley proposed, giving him a suggestive look from behind his sunglasses.

The man seemed to be confused and embarrassed at the same time, stuttering out a “what are you implying?”

“Surely a man like yourself knows what I’m implying, maybe relieving some built-up tension?” Crowley clarified to him, as the man scanned him up and down.

“You don’t even know my name,” the man stated nervously.

Crowley could see it on his face, he wanted to do this but there was something holding him back.

“Anthony, what’s yours?” Crowley informed, and inquired, holding his hand out to the other man as they continued to walk.

“F-Freddie,” the man responded, taking his hand and giving him a firm grip.

“Nice hands, would look better gripping bedsheets though,” Crowley teased, the words rolling off his forked tongue easily.

“I, um… follow me,” Freddie told him, and the two men stalked off into the night towards a very expensive hotel.

__

They’d barely made it into the room before Crowley had Freddie pinned up against a wall and was kissing him with a fury of passion that he was trying to burn off from his mind always wandering to one particular angel.

Hands wandered, and clothes found their way onto the floor until they would up with one hand gripped tightly onto Crowley’s arse, and the other was threaded through his medium lengthed hair, Crowley’s own hands were either on the wall or cupping the other man’s jaw.

“Anthony, w-wait,” Freddie stumbled through the words, pulling back, “I’ve never done this before,” he confessed.

“With a man, or at all?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“A man, I’ve done  _ that _ for sure,” Freddie told him, rolling his eyes to sass Crowley.

“Well don’t worry, I’ve got it covered. Top or bottom?” Crowley claimed.

“Doesn’t matter,” Freddie answered.

“Okay good,” Crowley mumbled, pushing his lips back onto Freddie, kissing him in a fury.

When Freddie started kissing back, Crowley picked up by the arse, feeling Freddie’s legs wrap around his waist. Crowley stumbled backwards and turned around, pushing Freddie down onto his back on the bed, still locked lips.

As Crowley’s hands ventured down to the briefs that were settled around Freddie’s waist. He tugged them off, fingers gracefully dancing over the straining dick. A small bottle of lube appeared next to them with a snap of fingers, and Crowley used more than enough on his fingers before pressing the first one into the man underneath him, making him hiss.

“You good?” Crowley asked, stilling his finger.

“Yeah, just new is all,” Freddie admitted, turning away from Crowley’s gaze.

“Alright, let me know if you need to stop, okay?” Crowley instructed him, waiting for a response before continuing.

“‘K,” Freddie mumbled, giving him a nod to continue.

That was all that Crowley needed, and he resumed prepping the other man until he had all four fingers resting inside Freddie’s arse. Once Freddie was sufficiently prepped, and Crowley’s own cock was straining in his boxers from the stifled noises the other man was making, Crowley tossed his own underwear to the side, and picked the bottle of lube back up, emptying the small bottle onto his hands and coating his cock generously.

“You ready?” Crowley demanded in a deep tone.

Freddie gave a quick nod, looking him dead in the eyes.

Crowley rolled his own eyes, and lined himself up, the inexperience of this man was going to get to him.

“You know what? Turn around,” Crowley grumbled, drumming his fingers on the sheets.

Freddie gave him a funny look but complied, turning around and sticking his arse in the air while resting his head in his arms against the sheets.

“Better…” Crowley grumbled, relining up.

There was a sharp hiss of pain before a moan of pleasure from the man underneath him. Crowley was fed up with taking it slow, and once he had hilted himself, he grabbed Freddie’s waist and started an unrelenting pace. Underneath him, Freddie was a mess, like someone who was finally given their favourite treat, completely filling the room with the loudest lewd noises Crowley had heard in a while.

With the noise and the pace combined, it didn’t take long before Crowley felt himself standing in front of the all-to-familiar edge. Reaching down, he took Freddie’s dick in one hand and began stroking it back and forth in time with his thrusts.

Freddie had apparently been closer than he was and the touch sent him hurtling over the same edge, sufficiently making a mess of the sheets and Crowley’s hand. As the muscles flexed around him, Crowley stifled a groan before following Freddie and jizzing inside him.

The two men tumbled down onto the bed, Crowley on his back staring up at the ceiling and Freddie next to him on his stomach. Crowley didn’t truly realize how loud they had been until the room had fallen silent. They laid there for quite some time and Crowley thought Freddie had fallen asleep with how long it had been.

That was until a voice broke the silence around them.

“You wanna go again?” Freddie proposed, giving him a sly look.

“Only if you top,” Crowley grumbled, rubbing his sore legs.

“Deal.”

__

Crowley woke up with possibly the worst hangover mixed with after-sex soreness. Gulping, he sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes before cracking them open. He scanned the hotel room he found himself inside of, it was a large suite that definitely wasn’t his, with a very comfy bed that looked to be a queen, there were clothes all over the floor, and he spotted his underwear and leather jacket amongst them. As he scanned the room further, his eyes rested on a sleeping man next to him.

He was very gorgeous, his black hair was tousled around the pillow, and his tan skin was glowing in the morning light shining through the open window of the suit. As he sat there thinking, his mind recalled the events of last night, as well as the name of the man, Freddie. Somewhere deep in his mind, he recalled that name, but he brushed it off as nothing.

Crowley got up and found the pad of paper nearby left by the hotel. He quickly jotted down a note for Freddie to find later.

_ Freddie, _

_ Bet you’re remembering last night, I’m pretty unforgettable, I know.  _

_ I hope to see you around again, it was quite an amazing night. _

_ -Anthony J. _

Crowley smirked at the note. It was vague, but not too vague. It didn’t imply anything, yet it implied a lot at the same time.

He then proceeded to pick up his clothes from the apartment, a pair of black boxers, ripped skinny jeans, a black mesh shirt and a leather jacket. Crowley slipped back into them, and before Freddie could wake up, he was out of the suite, however, that wasn’t before he performed a minor miracle on him, like flipping the final switch on your invention and finished his little temptation.   
__   
  
It had been a couple of months, he and Freddie had run into each other more than a few times, and it had cost them none, but the sins of their bodies. On a couple of occasions, they had just simply hung out and Freddie had confessed things to him about his sexuality, love life, and other things, but never about his career. They had become fast friends, with extra benefits, and had each other’s numbers saved on paper.

On one particular afternoon, Crowley had been watching the news one day when all of a sudden, he saw Freddie’s face on the TV. He was singing the most incredible song with a band and the camera crew had tried their best to capture them, yet one looked like it was focused on something else…

Somehow, Crowley’s tea had found itself all over what he had been wearing when he saw Freddie on TV. The increasingly popular band Queen’s main singer was his friend-with-benefits. 

“Fuck,” Crowley spat, reaching for his phone. He dialled the all-to-familiar number, letting it ring and ring. When he didn’t pick up, Crowley left a message for him to find later.

__

Time passed once again, Freddie had eventually called Crowley back and explained, even inviting him over to his house for some wine and drunken chat. Crowley had accepted. He wasn’t mad at his friend, just proud. That was the night Freddie gave him some advice on Aziraphale.

What had happened over the next few years, Crowley would forever blame himself for.

He should’ve noticed when Freddie started hanging out with his manager more, and when his friends drifted away. Hell, it was so blatantly obvious when he decided to go solo and stopped calling him as often. 

But nothing prepared him for when Freddie showed up on his doorstep one night, drenched in rain, and looking rather shit-faced.

“Freddie, what’s wrong?” Crowley had urged him, leaning against the doorframe in nothing but black boxers and a lace housecoat.

“Can I come in?” Freddie asked, his face was noticeably more pale than the man he had met all those years ago.

“Of course.” Crowley backed away from the door and shut it behind his friend when he stumbled into the house.

Crowley had taken Freddie to his room and given him a pair of clothes that fit him so he wouldn’t catch a cold, though a cold paled in comparison on what was really going on.

Freddie explained to him about everything his manager did, what had happened when he went solo, and why he was like this, but what hit him like a ton of bricks was when he told him that he had AIDs.

It was Crowley’s fault, for tempting all those years ago. None of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t tempted him.

__

  
Freddie stayed at Crowley’s place before he got himself a new house (near Crowley’s, thank someone). Crowley had gone back to his manager's place and with a little help from some miracles, he got his best friend’s shit back for him, which included all the half-written songs that Freddie didn’t want to see and sat in a box underneath Crowley’s bed.

Crowley helped Freddie best he could, and when Freddie wanted to do Live Aid, he performed a minor miracle for him to be able to perform with Queen. He even helped him find the man who had told him to find him when he knew what he wanted, and finally saw his best friend happy with a stable partner.

The morning before Live Aid, Crowley had gotten his hands on two tickets thanks to Freddie. He put on his favourite jacket, lucky shirt, and pants, he combed his hair, gotten his round-sunglasses and grabbed the ticket. Crowley drove his ass halfway across town over to a small book shop on a street corner.

Crowley waltzed up the steps and rang the doorbell (the shop was never open till ten anyways). When a very polished, white-haired man opened the door, Crowley gulped.

“Hey Aziraphale, you wanna go to Live Aid with me? I got an extra ticket,” Crowley suggested, leaning on the doorframe with one arm.

“Oh, sure, let me just get something more suitable on. Do come in,” Aziraphale offered, stepping away from the door.

Crowley walked inside the shop, shutting the door behind him. With a quick snap of fingers, Aziraphale was in a sensible pair of jeans and a Hawaiian button-up t-shirt.

“Does this look better?” Aziraphale asked gingerly.

“Perfect. Now come on, concert’s gonna start without us,” Crowley teased, motioning for Aziraphale to follow him.

“Alright, coming,” Aziraphale chirped, bustling after Crowley.

__

After the concert, Crowley had taken the liberty to introduce Aziraphale to Freddie. It was the least he could do, for his best friend. The band, Freddie’s new partner Jim, his early wife Mary, her husband, Crowley, and Aziraphale ended up spending the night together, celebrating the concert and the band being back together.

At the end of the night, upon urging, Crowley had admitted to Aziraphale exactly how he felt about him, which lead to a very sober Aziraphale grabbing his shirt collar and kissing him hard.

At least he finally did something to make Freddie proud.

The events of the last six years of Freddie’s life were tame. They still did concerts and Freddie dealt with a blunt force of homophobia, but other than the usual things, Freddie and Crowley lived relatively normal lives. Even though they had dropped the friends-with-benefits part of their relationship, they grew closer. Crowley was able to get Aziraphale to miracle away some pain for his best friend, but unfortunately, they never could cure him completely, only delay the inevitable.

On his friend's death bed, Crowley kept Queen on repeat in the room, playing softly in the background, and letting Freddie pick and choose whichever songs he wanted. Not many wanted to witness their friend die like that, but they stayed, even Aziraphale who didn’t know him as well was there. Before the clock finally rang for its last time, and there was nothing anyone could do for any of them except offer each other the only company they could muster up, Crowley finally told Freddie what his name truly was.

“Anthony J. Crowley, J doesn’t stand for anythin’,” he admitted when his friend asked him what the J stood for. “And I don’t usually go by Anthony, it’s almost always Crowley.”

“Well, I’ve been going as Freddie Mercury all my career, wasn’t born that way,” Freddie told him. “Didn’t ever tell you cause I didn’t want you to think of me differently.”

“What is it?” Crowley was rather shocked at this.

“Farrokh Bulsara, that’s the name my parents gave me. Never fit quite right.”

“It’s a nice name.”

“Thank you, darling.”

__

It took Crowley weeks to get over his best-friends death. He didn’t leave his house for weeks, until he bought an apartment closer to Aziraphale’s book-shop, and moved away from the house that haunted him with memories of the best friend he’d ever had. 

To this day, Crowley blames himself for Freddie’s death. Queen is kept on repeat in the Bently, so he would never forget what he had done to the best friend he ever had.


End file.
